


Demons

by Colorfullyminded



Series: Pinescone Month [10]
Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: And Maybe Wirt is more than just a good friend, But I feel better when I talk about it, Depression, Dipper deserves good things, Except it's actually 2020 and not even October, Hurt/Comfort, I hope it turned out okay, It's Not Easy, M/M, My plan to finish all prompts is somehow...still going, Pinescone Week 2019, Self-Harm, THIS MADE ME HURT, TW: Self Harm, TW: suicidal thoughts, This is somewhat personal to me, Wirt is a good friend, Wirt tries his best, but that's okay, there's a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colorfullyminded/pseuds/Colorfullyminded
Summary: There are powerful demons in this world. Demons who trick, demons who deceive. Demons who make deals. Demons who steal souls, and break hearts. Demons that create armageddons, and demons that turn humans into Edlewood to keep their souls lit. But there’s sigils, and seances, and memory wipes, and blowing out a lantern, and the power of fucking friendship to defeat them...most demons have a weakness.And then there are demons...demons like these. That aren’t so simple. That don’t make deals, they don’t need to trick their hosts--they just live, and breathe, and hide in the shadows, always present, always waiting, never truly gone. They don’t lull you in with promises--they subdue you with regret. You can keep them at bay, you can ease their power, dull their pain---but demons like these...they don’t fully go away.What is Wirt supposed to do with demons like these?
Relationships: Dipper Pines/Wirt (Over the Garden Wall)
Series: Pinescone Month [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1503392
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25
Collections: Over The Gravity Falls, Pinescone Week 2019





	Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 10: Demons

He finds Dipper on the roof’s awning.

It’s not that he doesn’t expect Dipper to be out there--that’s usually the twin’s go to spot when they want to relax, or hide away from the many chores Grunkle Stan tries to offset on them. 

_It’s that it’s pouring outside._

Wirt takes an unsteady step forward, his eyes on his feet. The last thing he wants to do is slip and fall. It’s hard to balance-to focus on steps- when he’s holding an umbrella. He’s thankful it’s not windy; he doesn’t have the coordination for that. One powerful gust of wind, and just like the umbrella, he’ll be flipped upside down...and end up sprawled on the floor, horribly bent and broken--possibly beyond repair.

He stumbles towards the edge of the awning where Dipper is sitting, legs over the side of it. He wants to chastise his friend. He’s way too close to the edge. Wirt’s never liked the twins being so close to the ledging. Maybe it’s because he’s clumsy, because he can’t walk a straight line without tripping over his long limbs. Either way--the rain makes this all the more terrifying.

“Dipper...come inside. It’s raining cats and dogs out here!” Wirt yells over the pitter patter of raindrops on the shingles.

Dipper doesn’t turn around.

Wirt kneels down, shuddering as icy water soaks into his jeans. He inches ever closer, crawling on one hand. The umbrella swings unsteadily back and forth, and he’s getting more wet than he wishes. _Damnit, Dipper. What the hell are you doing?_

Finally, he’s close enough to rest a hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

“Dipper?” Wirt calls again.

Dipper tenses, clearly hearing the other boy--aware of the hand on his shoulder. But still...he doesn’t turn.

So Wirt leans over.

Dipper is staring ahead at the darkened pines in the distance. Water mats his hair to his face, curls limp and dripping. His eyes flutter, water clinging to his lashes; when he blinks they fall like the rain. His clothes are soaked through, clinging to his pale form; he’s wearing what he sleeps in--a t-shirt and boxers--which is alarming in this miserable weather. His lips are slightly parted...red and ruddy, like he’s been chewing on them; they’re trembling. His hands are folded in his lap, fingers curled into tight, white fists.

“Dipper...Dipper what the hell are you doing? Get inside!!!” Wirt chides, giving Dipper’s shoulder a shake.

Dipper’s eyes flash to Wirt’s--briefly. A second to acknowledge him. Then they’re back to the treelines.

_What...what the hell?_

Wirt doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he brought his cell phone out here, so he could give Mabel a call. He was so worried about it getting drenched in the rain, about it short circuiting, because it’s an ancient piece of garbage--but now it seems like he’s stepped onto a boat with no lifejacket. _Why didn’t he bring his phone?_ Stan had mentioned she was at a friend’s house when he walked through the door, asking where the twins were. Looking at Dipper, at his uncharacteristically stoic form, Wirt knows that Mabel would know what to do. She knows her brother inside and out. She has to know what this is.

_Or maybe he should go back inside and get Stan?_ He knows more about the twins than he lets on--he can probably help. He said Dipper had been a little quiet today, but waved it off as Dipper getting lost in one of his mystery novels again: “Kids probably got a moment to relax without his sister jumping around. Those two are so unruly when they’re together--a little time apart, doing their own thing is probably good for their mental health. And if he wants to keep to himself, fine by me! Now I can check up on my shows. The Duchess is going to sneak a late night rendezvous with Duke Brandlesnatcherflopperstein--I mean...good chance for me to catch the wrestling match this afternoon. Um...yeah! Anyway, what are you still doing here? Go see your boyfriend.” Wirt, blushing, had tried to tell him that Dipper and him weren’t together, but then Stan grabbed the broom and started sweeping at his feet, and Wirt had fled up the stairs.

...Or, Wirt ponders, maybe he can even risk an uncomfortable conversation with Ford, who doesn’t like him. Ford loves Dipper though, and he would help immediately if he knew Dipper was risking his health out here. A thousand scathing glares and deep seated frowns would be worth it, so long as Dipper would just---

“...Dipper?” Wirt reaches forward, resting his hand over Dipper’s. “Dipper...talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Dipper’s Adam's apple bobs. He hears Wirt, he’s attentive...he’s just not responding. Not verbally. He either won’t...or he can’t. And Wirt doesn’t like either option.

Wirt scoots closer, until his chest is nearly touching Dipper’s back. The stark bite of Dipper’s chilled skin makes Wirt shudder, but he pushes back his own discomfort, as he pulls the umbrella over the both of them. Dipper might be a drowned rat at this point, but that doesn’t mean he has to continue being pelted by the rain. He squeezes Dipper’s hand. They’re so cold. Wirt hates how cold Dipper’s hands are.

_How long has he been out here?_

“Dipper, did something happen? Was it the gnomes? A Gremgoblin? Pixies? Were you attacked? Possessed? Are you in danger? Did something try to hurt you?”

Dipper blinks, sluggishly, at each of Wirt’s prompting--then, at Wirt’s last question, he nods.

Wirt’s eyes widen. “Something tried to hurt you?”

Dipper shakes his head.

Wirt’s even more lost. “Wait...something didn’t try to hurt you?”

Dipper shakes his head again.

Wirt’s eyes widen as realization hits. “Something _already_ hurt you?”

Dipper, _slowly_ , nods.

“What? What hurt you? Who hurt you?” Wirt bristles, his over protective, easily frazzled nature coming out. The moment he hears _hurt_ , and _Dipper_ , in the same sentence, he’s panicking, searching Dipper for any visible signs of injury. Besides the blue veins prominently displayed in the crease of Dipper’s elbow; besides his damp, paled skin, and his constant shivering, Wirt can’t see anything notably wrong. That only heightens his anxiety.

_Where? Where?! Wherewherewherewhere???_

Dipper shuts his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. His lips press together in a thin line.

  
  
He’s not going to answer, so Wirt shifts directions. “Where? Where did they hurt you? Will you tell me? Will you show me?” He needs to know. He needs to see it. 

Dipper opens his eyes. His gaze shifts nervously right to left, like he’s trying to figure out how to answer. Like he’s wondering what the right thing to do is. 

Wirt’s nerves hit critical. “Dipper, please. Let me help you. I want to help you! Dipper, I’m not going anywhere...I’m here…I’m your best friend. Whatever’s wrong, I’m going to fix this. Okay?” He rubs his thumb over Dipper’s clenched fist. Soft, soothing. Trying to convey all the trust in a single touch. “I’m here. _Mason,_ I’m here.”

  
  
Dipper tilts his head, and their eyes meet. Dipper’s eyes are usually this bright, honey colored brown--like the afternoon sun shining on tree bark. Soft, spirited, warm and welcoming. Flecks of gold in the edges of his eyes--freckles in his eyes, to match the smattering of freckles on his nose. They’re wonderful, and Wirt could look at them forever. Could write poetry about those eyes. Lovely, bright--beautiful.

Right now, they’re so dark, they're almost black.

Dipper lifts his hands, and slowly uncurls his fingers.

There’s blood crusted in his fingernails. Around his cuticles; stained under his hyponychium. 

It looks like he’d been scratching at something--like he was desperately trying to claw away from something. Or maybe he was _clawing at them_ , fighting for his life. That would make sense; Dipper’s a scrappy young man--he’ll fight tooth and nail if it means his survival. Wirt’s always admired that resistance. He opens his mouth to ask who’s blood that is--but it _dies_ on his tongue. Words fail him as he sees...as he realizes... Three of Dipper’s fingers...three of his nails are _missing_ . The nails on his right middle finger, left index, and left pinky have been torn clean _off_. 

His teeth chatter loudly, and he can’t tell if it’s from the cold seeping into his skin from being out here too long...or just his own hysteria. Wirt’s hand shakes as he studies the tips of Dipper’s fingers. _What happened? Who did this to him?_ _Who did Wirt have to hurt to prevent this from ever happening again?!_ Wirt swallows, his eyes flitting across the rest of Dipper’s hand. There’s no other signs of injury; the rest of his hand looks fine. Scarred and rough from years of hard work and climbing trees, but nothing _fresh_. So where... _where did this come from?_

Wirt’s focusing so hard on the fingers-- until something catches his eyes, something in the corner of his peripheral. He cocks his head, staring at Dipper’s lap where Dipper’s hands had been prior. Where he’d been resting them but a moment ago. His boxers are clinging tightly to his legs, and Wirt would be flush with embarrassment, shy about looking somewhere so intimate, if the skin under the hem of Dipper’s boxers didn’t look so... _pink._ He moves his quaking hand, and touches Dipper’s thigh.

Dipper jumps at his touch. Wirt looks into Dipper’s face, silently asking permission. He’s trying not to feel like a creep, but there’s no way to ask what he’s going to without feeling like a weirdo. No way to go about this as if it’s normal.

He expects Dipper to be just as uncomfortable as he feels. Dipper flusters easily-- they share that trait so well. He expects Dipper to start blushing, to freak out and over analyze the situation, to nervously ask what he’s doing with a cracked voice, and a tied tongue. _It’s the lack of response that tells Wirt that something is very wrong._

Dipper won’t look at him. He’s _ashamed_. But it’s not the kind of shame you feel when you’re timid and anxious--like they’re prone to daily. It’s the shame you hide when you’ve done something irreversible. 

Wirt doesn’t ask anymore. He pushes up the fabric.

He looks down.

The umbrella slips through his fingers, and over the ledge it goes. 

_Cuts...little cuts._

_...So many...tiny little cuts._

_...Hundreds...and hundreds...of_ **_not so little_ ** _scratch marks._

Wirt exhales breathlessly. _No. No. Please, no._

He checks the other leg.

_More._

The sound he makes is a dying animal. 

The sky lights up; a flash of blue colors the graying world around them. A boom rumbles in the distance, rocking the once metronome of rain on the rooftop.

He presses his hands to Dipper’s cheeks, forcing the boy to look at him. Wirt’s eyes are pleading--questioning. _Why? Why did you do this?_

Dipper stares back, lips trembling. They should be blue from the cold, but they’re red and chapped; blood trapped in the torn bits of skin. When he can’t form the words, his gaze falls to the floor, defeated. His body crumples in on itself. The only thing keeping him from curling into a ball is Wirt’s hands holding his face. Forcing him to stay sitting up.

_Dipper still hasn’t answered him._

Wirt swallows. The water seeps into his clothes--the cold seeps into his bones.

_It’s everywhere. It’s burning._

Fighting back the tears, he drops Dipper’s face; the boy’s head hangs, like a scolded dog hiding from his master. Dipper’s helplessness only hurts the poet more; he grinds the palm of his hands against his eyes, forcing back his own helplessness. 

_Strong._

_Strong._

_Be strong._

_Fuck, Wirt, be strong!_

The rain keeps pouring over the both of them-- saturating them in it’s summer suppression. 

Wirt takes Dipper’s hands, careful to avoid his nails, and stands. He’s less afraid of the ledging now, of losing his footing-- _there are other fears currently taking precedence._

“Come on, let’s go.” He gives Dipper’s arms a tug.

Dipper lifts his head again, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Wirt stares into a black, lifeless void. He sets his brow, and forces himself to smile. Patient, coaxing.

_Please, please._

_You need to be strong._

_You need to be strong for him._

He wants to throw himself off the roof. He’s not strong. He’s not brave. He’s not Dipper.

_Dipper._

_Dipper... oh god!_

_He always thought that Dipper was strong. Stronger. Braver. Smarter. A fighter. A hero... Better than he could ever hope to be. Dipper could do anything! Dipper could not be deterred. Dipper was not a coward. Dipper would never fail, never falter--_

_...never fall apart..._

_...Dipper._

“Let’s get you inside. I’ll help you clean up.”

* * *

Wirt gets the shower running. He adjusts the temperature, making sure it’s not too hot, or too cold. When he’s certain he has a good temperature going, he turns to face his friend. Dipper’s standing in the middle of the bathroom, dripping rainwater onto the tiles, arms crossed, and shivering. He eyes Wirt wearily.

Wirt stares right back. 

_What now?_

This is where Wirt is supposed to walk out. Leave Dipper to wash himself--maybe fetch some clean clothes and a towel for when the teen gets out. But there are two thoughts persisting in the back of his mind. 

The first is that he’s dripping wet, and the idea of staying in his wet clothes doesn’t sound very appealing, while the quickly rising steam from the shower is far more tempting.

The second, and more important thought: _He’s afraid to leave Dipper alone._

“Please get undressed,” Wirt commands, though even to him it sounds like begging. He peels off his sweater, shuddering at how waterlogged it feels in his hands; practically weighing him down, he quickly drops it. It hits the floor with a **plop**.

  
  
Dipper blinks. He stares at Wirt, as if he didn’t hear him the first time.

Wirt tries to keep the blush off his face. “I said get undressed. We have to get you out of those clothes and warm you up.” He fiddles with the first button on his shirt.

Dipper cocks his head to the side, still befuddled. He eyes Wirt up and down.

“I’ll be joining you in the shower,” Wirt replies to Dipper’s nonverbal question, hoping he didn’t stutter when he said it.

Dipper’s eyes widen, and for the first time all day Wirt gets a reaction that feels somewhat normal. A blush, a genuine blush. Dipper shakes his head furiously, hiding his face behind his hands--hiding his reddening cheeks. Wirt almost smiles; _that’s more like his Dipper._

...But when he remembers why he has to do this in the first place, any sense of humor fails. 

And when he sees Dipper’s fingernails again, all he feels is indignation.

“Sorry, I know you don’t want me to, but I don’t really trust you. I can’t trust you to be alone.”

  
  
Dipper’s embarrassment falls away to shame.

Wirt concentrates on unbuttoning his shirt. When he’s gotten the last button undone, he shakes the wet shirt off his shoulders, and it joins his sweater with another disgusting **splat**. “Do you need me to turn around? Would that make it easier?”

Dipper grips his t-shirt, tugging the fabric down. He glares at the floor, looking like a sullen child.

Wirt’s initial response is to snap: _‘You don’t get to look like that! You don’t get to protest! You have no right to be pissed off! You did this! If you have to deal with my hovering--if you have to be inconvenienced for a single moment--you’ll fucking take it! I’m so fucking pissed right now, how dare you act like I’m the one who’s overreacting!!! Mason Pines you fucking stupid piece of s--_

He swallows what his crying heart wants to scream. “I’m sorry. Please, please just do as I ask.”

His distress distracts him enough to take off his pants, slipping out of his jeans and boxers, kicking them into the pile of wet clothes. “I’ll get in first, but don’t take too long.” He pulls back the curtain and steps in. He pauses before putting his other leg in, turning to scowl at the younger male. “And don’t leave--I’ll chase you out, and drag you back naked if I have to.”

  
  
That’s a horrifying thought. Dipper snorts, also envisioning such a scenario. His lip twitches into an almost smile. Wirt’s expression softens. 

Dipper glances at him, the walls around him slowly crumbling. His eyes are watery, and Dipper quickly wipes them away with the back of his wrist, before sighing and finally--! He starts taking off his own shirt.

Wirt closes the curtain to give him some privacy. He shoves his head under the spray of warm water, moaning softly as his chilled skin is warmed almost immediately. His muscles untense; for a moment he can pretend that nothing is wrong. It’s just a normal afternoon, a normal shower. He got caught in a light summer rain, and he’s cleaning up to prevent himself from catching a cold. The twins are in their room, Mabel sewing a sweater, Dipper reading a book-- or maybe writing in his journal. Everything’s fine, everyone’s happy.

_Nothing bad happened._

The curtain opens and closes. Wirt feels his presence before he even sees him. Taking a moment to steel his nerves, to push away the rising anger, he turns around.

Dipper is staring up at him, hands covering his lower half. His cheeks are pink, but his eyes are dull and hollow. He’s still not completely there. 

“Let’s get you under the spray.” Wirt gently lays his hands on Dipper’s shoulders, and tries to flip their positions. This is not an easy task to do when there’s little space in the shower; they both make these dumb little noises with their noses, as their knees bump and their skin brushes against each other. Wirt looks up to the ceiling, and Dipper looks down at the floor; if you could hear their thoughts, you’d probably hear screaming.

But...at least Dipper is under the spray of the water, and Wirt hears the slight hum of approval, feels Dipper’s shoulder sag in relief. It gives him the courage to look down again.

“Want me to wash your hair?” Wirt asks, his hands slipping up the back of his neck to stroke the loose curls hanging from his neckline.

Dipper closes his eyes, leaning into Wirt’s touch. He nods. If he were any more content, he might start purring.

Wirt smiles; _Dipper really is too cute for his own good_.

He takes some shampoo and starts lathering his hands. He pushes back Dipper’s hair, massaging the boy’s scalp, spreading the shampoo around his locks--

\---he freezes, jaw clenching.

Across his forehead, where his birthmark should be; where the Big Dipper should be prominently featured, Wirt can only see crusted blood. Reddish brown nicks fill his vision. There is nothing resembling the stars Wirt is so fascinated with. They’ve been scrubbed raw; Dipper had been trying to scrub them from existence.

Dipper realizes too late what Wirt is scowling at. His eyes go wide, and he tries to push Wirt’s hands away, tries to turn away, tries to cover his forehead with his bangs. All to no avail; Wirt’s hands tighten in his hair, staring right at the scars where Dipper’s once beautiful constellations lay. Where Wirt longed to trace them with his fingers, but never had the courage to. That was something too intimate to share between friends--that kind of affection was reserved for lovers...and they weren’t lovers. 

But Wirt always wished...definitely hoped...that, maybe if he was stronger...maybe he could push back those swoopy bangs, and lightly run his fingers along the northern pines. Maybe he could replace the touch of his hand, with the touch of his mouth, and hear the hums and sighs of the boy under him. Maybe he could convey all the love and poetry that filled his head, that made his heart full and aching, in those little touches--those little intimacies reserved for people that weren’t _him_.

“Dipper…” He feels trickles of water running down his cheeks. He can’t tell if it’s the water from the shower, or... 

“Dipper...what the fuck?” He lowers his head, his lips pressing lightly to Dipper’s forehead. Conveying all that swirls and sinks and shatters within him, against the blood stained, torn away, scabbing--dying starlight. 

Dipper tenses against him. He rests his hands on Wirt’s back, eyebrows furrowed in question. He can’t see Wirt’s face anymore.

“... _sniff_ …” 

Dipper’s eyes widen, his ears perking up at the sound. 

“... _sniff...sniff…”_

Dipper’s mouth wobbles, his hands desperately patting Wirt’s back, trying to get the older teen to look up again. Trying to make sure he’s not-- _He can’t. Wirt can’t be..._

“Dipper... _hic..._ Dipper...I-I’m... _hic..._ I’m sorry…I’m soo--s--s- _sniff_!”

Everything goes still, save for the spray of the shower…

..and then burning! Sudden, sharp, scorching heat hits Wirt’s skin.

“Shit!” Wirt jumps back, eyes wide. He looks at Dipper. Dipper’s hand is on the shower knob, the handle turned to the hottest setting. Wirt sees the muscles in Dipper’s arm straining, trying to push the handle further. Steam fills the bathroom, creating a thick white fog around them. The temperature in the air rises to an uncomfortable swelter. Wirt watches Dipper’s once pale skin turning bright pink, as he stands directly under the spray.

“No!” Wirt jumps forward, reaching for the handle, forcing the temperature back to a decent setting.

Dipper smacks his hand away, trying to turn the handle again. Wirt snatches his right wrist, and then his left when Dipper tries with his other hand, and forces his hands back.

“No! You’re not hurting yourself anymore!” Wirt snaps.

Dipper screams at him. This broken, animalistic scream; he looks at Wirt like he’s the worst thing in the world. His eyes fill with tears.

  
  
Wirt glares right back, his tears running freely. “Hate me if you want, I’m not letting you go! If you think I’m going to stand here while you torture yourself, then you must have a really low opinion of me!”

Dipper flails in Wirt’s hands, trying to slip away. Wirt struggles to keep him away from the faucet; he’s not as strong as Dipper, so it takes a lot of effort to hold him back. Maybe it’s his own adrenaline pumping, or maybe Dipper’s weak from staying out in the rain all morning, but there’s no headway in their tug of war-- which is bad for Dipper, but good for him.

“Dipper, just stop! Just please, stop!”

Dipper shakes his head, flinging water and shampoo everywhere. The bottom of the tub is slippery; the two slip and slide with the push and pull of their bodies. 

“Seriously, stop! It’s dangerous! You’re going to fall!”

Dipper fights him harder. _Why? Why is he doing this to himself?_ He throws his entire weight around, trying to cause some damage. His shoulder slams into the wall with a painful-sounding **thump**. His head smacks the wall not a second later, an even sharper “ **bang!** ” echoing the tiny space. Wirt glances at the wall, stares wide eyed at the dent in the plaster.

_...Enough..._

_Wirt’s had enough_. “Damnit! STOP! STOP IT! STOP HURTING THE PERSON I LOVE!” Wirt yanks Dipper’s hands up over his head, trying to use his height to his advantage.

Dipper slips and staggers forward, smacking into Wirt’s chest. The sudden movement causes Wirt to stumble, letting go of Dipper’s wrist to catch his waist--

\--and suddenly they’re tipping backwards. Wirt squeezes Dipper, and braces for impact.

Wirt’s head hits the rim of the tub, his elbows banging the bottom of the tub, his knee slamming into the wall, while the other jars the curtain open. Dipper lands with his full weight on top of him, crushing his ribs. 

He’s dazed, pain shooting through the back of his skull, his elbows, his left knee, his chest; pain blooming all over. “Ow! Shit!” He moans, rubbing a hand through his wet hair. There’s definitely a bump--he hisses when his fingers graze the tender skin--but when he pulls his fingers back, he’s relieved to find no blood. _The wetness was just water, thank goodness_ . But what about... _Ow! What about Dipper?_

He shakes his head, shooing his disorientation away. His eyes fall to the boy in his arms. Dipper is staring at him, mouth agape.

“Are you okay? Dipper?” Wirt presses his hand to Dipper’s cheek, angling his head to check his temple. A bruise is already starting to form--just another injury to add to the list. Wirt keeps checking, hands touching his shoulder, his back, his arms, all the while asking, “Where else? Where else does it hurt? Are you okay? Are you okay?”

  
  
At this point, his words might be moot. _He’s already hurt--what more can he do that he hasn’t already?_

_...that’s not true...he can do a lot more. Wirt knows he could do so much worse._

_Dipper’s not okay. Wirt’s not okay. They’re both not okay._

“Where else? Where else? Please tell me where else? I need to know. I need to know that this is it. I--I can’t. I can’t take anymore of this. Dipper, please. Tell me you’re okay. I need you to be okay. ...I need you to be okay…” He runs his thumbs over Dipper’s cheeks, staring desperately into the boy’s eyes.

Dipper starts shaking, a sob breaking through his throat. His eyes spark with _almost_ color, as the tears overfill, as they start climbing down his cheeks--Wirt brushes them away as quickly as they fall. He needs Dipper to come back. He needs _his_ Dipper back.

“I’m here...I’m still here…You’re not getting rid of me. There’s no way you’re getting rid of me. After all the crazy adventures, the life threatening expeditions, the monsters and mayhem...there’s no way I’m walking away. Not from you. Never from you.”

Dipper shakes his head. He stares at Wirt, eyes full of disbelief, full of _fear_ \--so many questions he can’t bring himself to ask. He doesn’t say it, but Wirt knows what’s running through his head: “ _Why? Why me? Why are you doing this? Why are you putting yourself through all this... for me? Am I really worth all this?”_

Wirt cups the back of Dipper’s head, like he’s something precious. To Wirt, _he is precious_. His other hand gently pushes back Dipper’s bangs, gently stroking his marred forehead. “Yeah, _Mason_ , you are. Call me stupid. Call me a fool. Cause I am. I’m a fool in love with another fool.”

Dipper sobs. He weakly pounds his fist against Wirt’s chest, much like a child throwing a tantrum. There’s no real heat behind it; he’s just coming apart. Wirt’s confession has struck a nerve.

“That’s fine...that’s fine...hit me all you want. As long as it’s not you...I don’t care. I’m a fool...I’m a fool for you...So hit me until you’re satisfied.” He sighs, lounging further into the tub. He hasn’t the energy to move. 

All he has-- _all he’s ever had_ \-- is his words, and the mouth to form them with: “I love you. I love you. I fall, hopeless and blind, every time you look my way. I stumble, stupid and weak kneed, when you smile. I fall apart when it comes to you...I fucking love you.”

“Stu…”

Wirt starts.

“Stupid...stupid... _stupid_ …” Dipper croaks. 

_Dipper’s voice!_

“...Yeah... _sniff..._ I’m stupid. I’m stupid…” Wirt repeats. _Anything. He’ll say anything_. A smile stretches across his face, brimming from ear to ear, even as his chest collapses from the weight of all his emotions.

His voice is so hoarse, so frail, as he repeats, “Stupid...so stupid…Stu...pid...”

Wirt considers that Dipper might not be talking about him. Wirt doesn’t care; he’s taking it all away--all Dipper’s self doubt, all his hurt, all his weakness--Wirt’s burdens it. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m stupid. Stupid-- _sniff_ \-- _Stupid_.”

“Not me...Don’t fucking...love me…”

Wirt laughs, broken and pitiful, “You’re two years too late. I’m gone. I’m yours. I’m devoted to you. There’s nothing I can do about it. You’ve got me waxing poems and making playlists for you. You’ve got me over the moon, and chasing the stars, and I’m plummeting down--down-- _down_! You’ve got me running and ducking and screaming for air as we run from danger--and all I want is to never let go of the hand holding yours.”

“Not...me…stupid...not me...Please...not me…”

“You. You, you, you, you, you, you-- _you_. Yours, I’m yours. I’m hopeless, foolishly, _yours_. _I want to be_ _yours_.”

Silence falls between them once more--save for the sounds of the shower’s spray. The temperature is bordering on lukewarm. Wirt’s certain they’ll both end up sick if it stays like this. The part of himself that's telling him to keep it together, to stand, to finish up--it's muddled.

“Hehe...hehe…”

  
  
Dipper lifts his head, eyebrows arched. 

“You know...you lying naked on me like this...if it were any other day, I’d probably have a much different reaction,” Wirt says, smirking.

Dipper’s face goes bright red. He slaps Wirt’s chest. 

He can't help it, the priceless look on Dipper's face-- Wirt starts laughing.

_He’s laughing_...

“Hahah--hahaahahah--HAHAHAHAHAH--HAHH!---HAha...ahh--uhhhh--uhhuhuh---” 

... _until he’s not_. 

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh--uhh--uwaaa---wa--UWAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

  
  
He’s all out of patience. He’s all out of keeping it together.

  
  
He presses his hands over his eyes and sobs.

_You need to be strong._

_You need to be strong!_

_You need to be strong…_

_You need to be..._

_Useless. You’re useless!_

He wants to chase away the demons. He wants to be worth something to the person he admires so much. He wants to matter to the person he loves; protect him from the demons that hide in the shadows. He wants to do something--anything! 

But he can’t. He doesn’t know how. All he has is his words…

His words...which are _failing him_... 

He can’t breathe. He can’t help. He can’t protect Dipper.

  
  
There are powerful demons in this world. Demons who trick, demons who deceive. Demons who make deals. Demons who steal souls, and break hearts. Demons that create Armageddon's, and demons that turn humans into Edlewood to keep their souls lit. But there’s sigils, and seances, and memory wipes, and blowing out a lantern, and the power of fucking friendship to defeat them...most demons have a weakness.

And then there are demons...demons like these. That aren’t so simple. That don’t make deals, they don’t need to trick their hosts--they just live, and breathe, and hide in the shadows, always present, always waiting, never truly gone. They don’t lull you in with promises--they subdue you with regret. You can keep them at bay, you can ease their power, dull their pain---but demons like these...they don’t fully go away. 

_What is Wirt supposed to do with demons like these?_

There’s only so much he can do. He’s still too young, too scared, too immature to handle it by himself. He wants to be the hero that Dipper needs--he wants to make it all better. He wants to pretend that he’s just as courageous as Dipper; that’s he’s just as strong as Dipper pretends to be. But Dipper’s not strong--and the realization that Dipper is just as lost, just as young and afraid as he is--just as fragile, maybe even more so--it’s a punch to his ribs. If Dipper can break--if Dipper can lose--then what does that say about him?

_He’s not ready for this. He’s not ready. What does he do? What is he supposed to do?_

_...Words fail him._ Nothing comes out, except his pitiful, broken sobs.

... _It isn’t long before Dipper’s wailing mixes with his own_...

* * *

Wirt applies the bandages, tight, to properly stick, but allowing the skin to breathe. Three bandages for his fingertips--for each nail missing, one large gauze to cover his forehead, and a wrap for each thigh. Having added disinfectant, and cleaned the dried blood around Dipper’s still intact nails, all that’s left is wrapping up Dipper's right thigh. He hopes that he isn't causing any possible discomfort. 

Dipper’s fallen back into silence again, a towel hanging limply over his head, shadowing his expression. Wirt’s breakdown certainly didn’t help the situation.

**\--You’ve made it worse--**

He pushes the regret away; there’s no time for self pity. He focuses all his attention on patching Dipper up. 

“That should do it,” He fixes the bandage clip, and tugs the towel covering Dipper’s lower half down, allowing him some modesty. “That’s not too tight right?”

Dipper shakes his head.

Wirt forces a smile, “Okay.” 

He stands, and starts drying Dipper’s hair, needing something to do with his hands.

Dipper wraps his fingers, loosely, around Wirt’s wrists. Wirt stops.

Dipper looks up at him, eyes bloodshot. 

Wirt forces another smile, “Do you want to do it?”

Dipper keeps staring. He weakly tugs Wirt’s wrist, so Wirt leans over. Replacing his wrist, Dipper wraps his arms around Wirt’s neck instead, hiding his face against Wirt’s clavicle. The towel drops to the floor.

“Dipper?”

  
  
Dipper squeezes.

  
  
“...okay.” He’s not sure what to do. He’s not sure what Dipper wants from him.

\-- **_Not like you can give him anything_ ** _\--_

“Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

Dipper nods against him, his drying hair tickling Wirt’s jawline.

  
  
_Right, okay…_

_...Okay…_

Wirt opens his mouth, asking if Dipper can stand. But he closes it.

_Maybe he could…_

_\--_ **_You can’t do that. You’re not strong enough. Useless_** _!--_

_..._

He stops arguing with himself, tucking his hands under Dipper’s knees. With a grunt, he lifts the younger teen into his arms, stunned when he doesn’t immediately drop him. When he doesn’t fall right on his ass.

Dipper makes a noise of surprise against him. 

_Wow. Okay. He didn’t...didn’t know he could do this._

There’s a flash of pride, but he quickly extinguishes it. Now’s not the time for feeling triumphant--

**\--You’re a failure. What little you can do now doesn’t make up for what you weren’t able to do when he needed you--**

He carries Dipper out of the bathroom. Neither Stan or Ford have come to check on them. Wirt can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. On one hand, it means he doesn’t have to try to explain the situation to them, and have Ford jump to conclusions as to why they took a shower together, why he’s carrying a half naked Dipper in his arms, but on the other hand, they’re adults--they can help far more than Wirt can. 

**\--They can help him. They can take care of him. You can’t do anything! Useless, pathetic, worthless--**

He sets Dipper on the bed, turning his attention to his suitcase. “I’m going to get dressed, real fast. Then I’ll help you, alright?”

Dipper nods, but seems hesitant to let him go.

  
  
“I’ll be right here…”

**\--Does it really matter if you’re here or not? Your presence does little to soothe him. Anyone would be better than you--**

Reluctantly, Dipper pulls away.

Wirt walks to his suitcase, removing his pjs. The alarm clock on the twin’s desk reads 4 pm--hardly time for bed, but Wirt doesn’t feel like leaving this room anytime soon. He’s not feeling presentable at all. He quickly gets dressed, then turns back to Dipper. Still sitting on the bed where he left him.

Wirt wants to pretend that seeing him there doesn’t fill him with relief. But honestly, every time he turns away, he’s afraid when he looks back, Dipper will be gone.

He walks towards Dipper’s dresser, pulling open the top drawer. He grabs a clean pair of boxers and tosses them to the young man. Dipper catches them effortlessly. While Dipper gets those on, Wirt opens the second drawer, trying to figure out what to hand him next. He frowns when he notices a certain pattern popping up.

“You really should pack more than t-shirts and shorts,” Wirt admonishes, as he checks Dipper’s drawers for anything warm to wear. He doesn’t see anything of Dipper’s that will regulate his body heat. He gets that it’s summer, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get cold at night, that there aren’t cold days--like today. The rain is still pouring outside, tapping against the glass, a constant reminder. Wirt glares at the window; he wishes it would go away. The sound of it makes his chest ache.

_He searches for something warm to wear, something to erase the memory of this morning from Dipper’s mind._

**\--Worthless--**

**\--Useless--**

**\--Failure--**

**\--Weak--**

**\--Pathetic--**

Something tucked in the corner catches his eye--something familiar. He pulls it out, and laughs. “My sweater! So that’s where you went! Aw man, I was looking everywhere for you.” He looks at Dipper, a teasing lilt to his voice, “You little thief!” 

_Maybe if he acts like it’s any other day, maybe that will make the ache go away._

**\--Hah!--**

Dipper looks at the sweater, then quickly looks at the ground. His cheeks turn an interesting shade of pink. 

_Huh?_

Wirt doesn’t push the topic, bringing the sweater over. “Arms up, please.”

Dipper raises his arms, and Wirt pulls the sweater over Dipper’s head. “There we go.”

Wirt tries not to blush. The navy blue sweater reaches past Dipper’s thighs, covering his boxers--covering the bandages. The sleeves are long enough that they hang past his hands. It’s adorable. The thought that Dipper Pines is adorable once more permeates his thoughts.

**\--Useless...perverted. All you think with is your--**

“Should I try and find you some sweats? Did you even bring any?”

  
  
Dipper shakes his head.

  
  
“Right then. Maybe you can borrow a pair of mine.”

  
  
Dipper shakes his head again.

“You have to wear something. There’s a chill in the room, and I’m not letting you catch a cold.”

Dipper shakes his head, and points to the lump that is his blanket.

Wirt weighs his options. He knows Dipper can be stubborn--always has been. Is this something he wants to fight Dipper on? Is it worth pursuing?

**\--Quitter. All you do is give up--**

“Fine. But you better get under there, right now.” 

Dipper scoots back, throwing the blanket over his lap. He gestures to the blanket, his eyebrows furrowed in this way that says ‘There! Happy now?’ 

**\--You’ll never be happy. You don’t deserve to be happy--**

Wirt walks back into the bathroom, and returns a moment later holding the towel Dipper had been using on his hair. He steps towards his friend. “You need to finish drying your hair.” And despite Dipper’s pouting face, he throws the towel over Dipper’s head, and starts drying it again.

**\--Distract yourself all you want. It doesn’t change anything--**

**\--You didn’t protect him--**

**\--You’ve made everything worse--**

**\--He’s closed up again--**

**\--It’s because of you. If you were stronger--**

**\--If you weren’t so weak--**

**\--Go home!--**

**\--Don’t come back!--**

**\--He doesn’t want you!--**

**\--You’re not wanted!--**

**\--You don’t deserve to be here!--**

**\--You don’t deserve to be with him--**

Dipper hisses and Wirt realizes he’s putting more pressure than is needed in hand drying his hair. “Oh, s-sorry!” He pulls the towel away, Dipper’s hair a fluffy, frazzled mess. Dipper rubs his scalp, staring at Wirt with these eyes that Wirt doesn’t want to see. Can’t bear to see. “Sorry! Guess I got distracted.”

He throws the towel into the twin’s dirty hamper. 

_Now what?_

**\--Now you leave--**

“Do you need anything? Can I get you some water...do you have any…” His voice falls away. _What is he supposed to say? Do you have any medicine that you can take? Do you take any antidepressants? Does anyone know about this? Is this common for you? Or was this just a one time thing? Just a lapse in sanity?_

_...Are you going to be okay?_

**\--...Useless…--**

Dipper hesitates, wringing his hands together. He finally points to a tiny wooden plank jutting out of the wall above them. Wirt reaches up--thankful, for once, for his long limbs, for his awkward growth spurt-- and begins feeling around. His fingers touch a small container, rattling the contents inside. He wraps his fingers around the small cylinder, and pulls his hand back, checking to see what he’s grabbed.

It’s a prescription bottle. 

**Name: M. Pines.  
Prescription: Fluoxetine  
Dosage: 60 Mg  
Date: 03/15/????**

It’s the middle of June. The bottle feels nearly full. 

“Have you been taking this regularly?” Wirt squints at the bottle, before his glare moves to Dipper.

Dipper makes this so-so motion, refusing to meet Wirt’s eyes. 

“Did you take any today?”

“...”

  
  
Wirt pops the lid open, and pours the dosage needed into his palm, before shoving his hand under Dipper’s nose. “Now.”

Dipper takes the pills, and pops them in his mouth. Under his pillow he pulls out a half empty water bottle, taking a swing. 

_...Good. Good. He did something right._

**\--For once--**

Wirt caps the lid again, but instead of putting the bottle back on the makeshift shelfing, he puts it right on the desk, right where it won’t be forgotten. Where Dipper can’t hide from it.

Now, as for him.

“I should probably...I…Let me--”

He turns.

\--And is immediately pulled back. He turns back around. Dipper’s holding his wrist, a panicked look in his eyes.

“Dipper? I’m...I’m not leaving…”

**\--You should. You should leave--**

“I’m just going to get the blow out mattress…”

**\--Just go home! Leave him alone! You can’t protect him!--**

“I gotta pull it out of the closet…”

\-- **YOU’RE A FAILURE! YOU’RE A COWARD! YOU’RE WORTHLESS! HE DOESN’T NEED YOU HERE! HE DOESN’T NEED YOU ANYMORE! YOU’RE JUST GETTING IN THE WAY! YOU’RE JUST GOING TO MAKE IT WORSE! STOP TRYING TO FIX THIS! YOU CAN’T FIX THIS! YOU CAN’T HELP! YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING! YOU’RE JUST GOING TO CRY AGAIN! YOU’RE GOING TO FALL APART, BECAUSE YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU’RE NOT STRONG ENOUGH! YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH! YOU’RE NOTHING! YOU CAN’T! YOU CAN’T!--**

“I’ll be just a second...I’m not going anywhere…”

**\--YOU’RE NOT WANTED HERE! YOU’RE NOT WANT----**

Dipper’s voice is but a whisper: “Stay…”

_The voice inside his head doesn’t have a comeback._

Dipper pulls him, until he’s kneeling on the mattress. “Please...don’t go…please stay...”

_The voice goes dead silent._

“Don’t...don’t...I need you...Wirt...I--...hold me...please...plea--”

Wirt climbs into the bed, slipping under the covers with hardly a thought. He wraps his arms around Dipper’s waist, holding him close. Ready to do what is asked of him. Ready to do whatever Dipper needs of him. Whether he’s the right person to do it or not; he’s here. He’s here now. _And that’s what matters._

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

Dipper buries his face in Wirt’s chest. For a moment, a horrible moment, Wirt thinks he’s going to start crying again--that Wirt’s fucked it all up again. But a moment later, Dipper lifts his head, eyes watery, but still, somehow, composed. His voice hiccups, “...This...this sweater…”

Wirt listens patiently.

“I love this sweater. I wear it...all the time...I wear it, even when I’m-- _sniff_ \--not supposed to. It’s not mine…”

“Dipper, I don’t care. I don’t care if you wear my sweater.” A sweater seems like such a minor thing to worry about. Why would he worry about something so trivial? Why is it imperative that Dipper tell him this, now?

_Then again...this is Dipper… If it’s bothering him enough that he has to mention it...that means it’s important…_

So Wirt listens.

“But I wear it...I wear it because it smells like you...It always smells like you...and I want to smell like you.”

Wirt’s lips part. _Wait, what?_

“I want any little reminder that you’re here. When you’re gone, I want something to pretend you’re still here. That you’re still…”

_He can’t believe...he never dreamed…Is he hearing him right?_

“I thought I was a horrible person. I thought I was horrible for keeping this part of you for myself. I thought I was selfish--to want you all to myself.”

Wirt’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t think...I never thought, someone like you--someone like you would ever want someone like...me…”

_No way…_

“How could you...how could you ever want someone like--” He shudders, and Wirt notices he’s reaching for one of his nails.

Wirt covers Dipper’s hands with his own, “Don’t even think about it. If you wanna rip a nail out, you better make it mine.”

Dipper gasps, “What? No! No, I’d never--I’d never hurt you--”

“Then why the hell do you think I’ll stand by and watch you hurt yourself?”

Dipper hangs his head in shame.

Wirt continues, “You think hurting yourself _isn’t_ hurting me? Dipper, seeing you like that--it broke my heart. It absolutely destroyed me. And there was nothing I could do for you. I was so helpless.”

“I--I--”

He rests his forehead against Dipper’s, mindful of the bandages. “I already told you, don’t you dare hurt the person I love. I won’t have it.”

Dipper hiccups, “But--but--why? Why would you love me? Wirt, I’m a mess! I overthink, I overworry, I overplan, I overwhelm--I’m so over the top! How, how could you possibly love someone like me?”

Wirt’s expression softens. _Damnit, the tears are forming again._ “Funny, I thought you were describing me for a second there.”

“You? Wirt, you’re amazing! You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re kind, and gentle, and poetic, and artistic, and so incredibly talented. The way you speak, the ways you weave words. I’m captivated. I could listen to you for hours. I could fall asleep to your voice.”

Wirt preens at the unexpected praise. He’s not used to being complimented, and in such a raw way. It’s almost uncomfortable-- _he doesn’t deserve such revere._

“I feel like it’s going to be okay...when I hear your voice. Everything starts to feel a little better when you speak. Everything has a purpose, everything matters--the way you talk about life, and nature, and all the little things--they all have a story that needs to be told. They all belong on this earth, whether we believe they do. That’s how you make life. That’s how the world lives through your eyes.”

Wirt stares, wide eyed and speechless. _Did he really make life seem that intricate? That poetic?_ There were certainly things about the world he hated, things he didn’t speak very fondly of--he definitely had his fair share of complaints. Half the time he thought his bouts of poetry were excessive--annoying. For Dipper to look at him and see him in such a way that didn’t make him instantly recoil...

“Everything matters...you make me feel like I matter.”

Now that, Wirt doesn’t need to doubt; he winds his arms tighter around the boy’s waist, “You do matter, Mason Pines.”

Dipper’s eyes flutter, his cheeks darkening. But the moment of tenderness falls away, as his expression grows somber. He chews his bottom lip, and Wirt winces, because it’s already so chapped, so torn up, it can’t take anymore abuse. “When my brain gets jumbled like this--when I can’t let go of the thoughts in my head; when it’s all just too much, there’s usually something to take my focus away. My sister, a mystery, some grand adventure, Great Uncle Ford, Grunkle Stan, Soos, Wendy...you… There’s always something. But today...today I couldn’t let go of the sounds, the voices. Everything was too big and too much, and Mabel was gone, and everyone was busy, and I was alone, and afraid and I just wanted someone--anyone. I went to get your sweater, because usually your voice can put me at ease--but you weren’t here yet--so I thought...I thought this sweater…”

“...But then I couldn’t stop thinking about what you would think of me, if you knew how I felt. If you knew this dumb, overexcitable, stupid--stupid! kid, had feelings for you. If you knew everything that I’m made up of--all the anxiety, and uncertainty, and stupidity--if you saw me the way I am, the way I really am. I knew, I knew you’d never want me--you’d never want someone so damaged…”

Wirt smoothes his hands down Dipper’s back. 

“--I couldn’t separate my thoughts from reality. It was suffocating. Everything was closing in, and I just wanted to breathe. I needed to breathe. And I couldn’t. And then I--I--”

  
  
He stops talking. Wirt appreciates it; he doesn’t need Dipper to continue. He already knows.

“...Do you really want me...now that you’ve seen me? Now that you’ve seen the worst of me...do you really want to stay? I’d understand if you didn’t--well, no...it’d probably kill me if you left-- but--but I wouldn’t blame you. I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t stand me anymore. I hurt you already--I hurt you so much today. I’ll probably hurt you again. I’ll just screw it all up again, and make things worse, like I always do. It’s probably better if we just stop right now--if you leave, before it’s too late. I’ll get over it--I’ll get over it--so please--if you need to leave, then I want--I mean, I don’t want you to--but I’ll have to and I’ll--”

Wirt doesn’t need to think about it. He kisses Dipper’s nose, and then his cheeks, over and over and over, until Dipper’s tearful babbling fades to muffled whimpers. Until Dipper’s lips meet his own--he lets Dipper initiate the first kiss.

When they pull away, Wirt smiles, cradling Dipper’s-- _his_ Dipper’s--cheek. “I told you already, it’s too late for me. I’m gone. I’m yours. I’m devoted to you. There’s nothing you can show me that will change my mind. I’ve fallen over the garden wall, and I’m not climbing out. You’re stuck with me; all my nagging, and fretting, and clumsy poetry. They’re yours. They’re yours, and only yours.”

Dipper clutches the hand against his cheek; his hand trembles, afraid Wirt will move it. “...But can you handle me, when I’m at worst? How can I not hurt you, when my head is filled with--”

“Demons?”

Dipper’s eyes widen. It’s almost too perfect, the analogy: “...Yeah. Won’t my demons scare you away?”

Wirt knows there are demons in the world. Demons that make deals, that bend time and space, that twist fate. All powerful demons, terrifying demons, demons of the body, of the soul, of the mind. There are dream demons, and demons of the woods. Meant to cause chaos, that feed on hope. 

Wirt knows that these demons can be exorcised. They can be defeated with the right tools, with the willpower to overcome them. With the right people, working together. With love, with hope.

Then there are demons like these. The ones who sit on the sides, always present, always watching, always there. The ones that can’t be beaten so easily. They aren’t easy to overcome; they don’t go away with just a smile, and a kind word. It takes years of practice, of the right medicines, of the right people, dedication and hard work, perseverance to keep going, even when you don't think you can anymore-- all of this, just to manage something so taxing, so ever-present. For many people, these demons follow them throughout their life; through their lows and highs. Some people prevail against them, while others fail. 

These demons...are the worst kinds.

Wirt knows that ‘I love you’s aren’t enough. He knows there’s more to it than that. Promises and sweet words, meant to comfort, don’t erase the scars; they don’t bandage his wounds. Bandages bandage the wounds. Therapy helps to quell the sounds in our heads. Medicine numbs the pain. _Time, and patience heal scars_. 

_Demons don’t die because we wish them to_. 

_But_ …Wirt thinks, as they lie beneath the covers, and Dipper’s eyes return to that honey afternoon glow; as he stares at Wirt with warmth in his eyes, for the first time in hours, that maybe love and hope still have a place in all of this.

_What matters, right now, is that he’s here._ That’s all he can do. 

And for the time being, _that is okay_.

“I’m afraid. I don’t always know what’s best. I’m not the most courageous, or the most steadfast, or the most mature. I know I’m going to struggle...just like I know you’re struggling right now. I know I’m not the most adept at this… but I’m here. I’m here, and I’ll be damned if I let them take you from me. It’s all I can give you...but I hope it’s enough. I hope it takes _some_ \-- _even just the tiniest bit_ \--of the weight off your shoulders. It’s all I have. But it’s yours. _I’m yours._ ”

_It’s okay to not be ready. It’s okay to be afraid._

“After our nap, we need to talk to Stan and Ford about what happened. And I’m going to call Mabel. She’ll want to be here with you.”

Dipper opens his mouth to protest.

  
  
“They’d want to know this. They’d want to be here to help. And you’d want to know if it was one of them. It’ll be okay...I’ll be here with you the whole time. We’ll deal with the aftermath together.”

Dipper closes his mouth. He sniffs, but nods his head in resignation.

“It’ll get better. Maybe not right now...but it will. The sun comes out, eventually.”

_Dipper doesn’t have to bear it alone. He doesn’t have to pretend to be strong._

_Wirt doesn’t have to take it all from him. He doesn’t have to pretend to be brave._

There’s others--there’s Mabel, there’s Greg, there’s Stan, there’s Ford, there’s Soos, there’s Wendy, there’s Sara, there’s Jason Funderberker, there’s their parents-- _there’s more than just them._

The thing about demons is…No matter how frightening they are...No matter what they're made of...

_...Even the scariest of demons can be dealt with, when you’re not alone._

Wirt closes his eyes, sighing softly as Dipper settles into his arms. He doesn’t hear the rain anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was...uhm...yeah.
> 
> I have depression, so I kind of tapped into that mental place for a moment. I've always really connected with Dipper, to the point that I would write him having depression as sort of therapy writing for myself. It helped me to feel better about my own mental health, when my favorite character struggled with it too. Sometimes it's really nice to see yourself in a character, to add your little quirks and habits into something you love. I actually feel really good after writing this--and I wasn't particularly in a low mood to begin with. But somehow, I feel better. 
> 
> Wirt trying so hard to be there, but just...not knowing what to do. Which can be very relatable for someone who has a loved one that struggles with mental illness. I really love writing Wirt. He's so kind, and gentle, and just...I mean there's so much about him that makes him such a great character.
> 
> Writing these two together just brings me a lot of joy. No matter the genre--just their dynamic matters so much to me. 
> 
> I'm so thankful there are people who still appreciate my work after all this time. That people still adore Pinescone, just as much as I do.
> 
> Also, I thought about ending it after the second part in the shower. I thought about leaving it on a sad, but relatable note. But considering how hard I try to encourage the idea of mental wellness and healing, I wanted to end on a hopeful note. Who know, it might be too saccharine? Either way, I wanted Hurt/Comfort, not angst. So we get cuddles and confessions, and _slow healing_. 
> 
> ((I did tell my server though that technically I was done after the second part, so hopefully the extra content will be a fun surprise)).
> 
> I wanted to take a prompt-- _Demons_ \-- but try something different, but familiar. It would have been easy to write something about Bill, or the Beast...or actual demons...but there are real world demons that are just as frightening. I should try writing more physical monsters for them to tackle in the future. Give them more adventures, rather than focusing on the day to day. 
> 
> I feel like I'm still lacking in the mystical--the supernatural elements that make these shows so great. I'll keep at it.


End file.
